


the one where Grace gets it before they do

by orphan_account



Series: the one where ______ [1]
Category: Hawaii Five-0 (2010)
Genre: Bisexuality, Dirty Talk, Fluff and Humor, Fluff and Smut, Fluff without Plot, Getting Together, Idiots in Love, M/M, Mild Kink, Oblivious Danny, Oblivious Steve, Past Rachel Edwards/Danny "Danno" Williams, Past Relationship(s), Porn with Feelings, mentions of DADT
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-11
Updated: 2017-12-13
Packaged: 2019-02-13 16:27:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,400
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12987939
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: well this will be my first multi-parter in this series, only because i had a lot to say (apparently lol) but i didn't want this to get too long, since most of my one shots are in the 2k-2.5k range. hope you like!





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> well this will be my first multi-parter in this series, only because i had a lot to say (apparently lol) but i didn't want this to get too long, since most of my one shots are in the 2k-2.5k range. hope you like!

So the thing is, the thing is, Danny’s really good at denial. Like, _really_ good. Rachel honestly blindsided him when she handed him divorce papers, even though their marriage had been on the rocks for years by then. He’d just thought they’d work through it, keep trying, that she’d finally stop wanting all his time and he’d stop finding all her concerns about money so humiliating and that they’d both go back to arguing casually and affectionately instead of having those same arguments blow up into screaming matches that made Grace cry because her parents were fighting _again_.

Calling it quits had never occurred to him. 

It was sort of why he’d been so happy, taken to it so easy, when Rachel had turned to him and kissed him and _slept_ with him even though she was wearing another man’s ring. It was why, when she broke it off again, he’d felt just as blindsided and betrayed as the first time. 

“It’s his baby,” she’d said, “I have to try.”

And he’d understood, but it hadn’t stopped his stupid heart from bleeding all over the place about it. Because right then, right then he’d finally got it, that it was _over_ between them. _Forever_ over. She wasn’t coming back and they’d never be DannyandRachel again, Grace would always be pulled between them, and it could never, _ever_ be fixed. 

Danny isn’t stupid, but damn if he can be a little slow on the uptake sometimes. 

So when Grace looks up from seriously chopping some tomatoes for salad one day and says, “What time is Uncle Steve coming?” he’s a little lost on what the heck his kid is talking about. 

“Huh?” he says intelligently, checking on the lasagna in the oven. 

“Uncle Steve,” says Grace patiently, “He’s gonna be late.”

“Who said he’s coming over?” Danny asks, obligingly titling the bowl of salad under the cutting board so she can sweep her tomatoes on top of the lettuce and cucumbers. 

“Well, it’s _family dinner night_ ,” says Grace, like that explains everything.

Danny stops futzing with the salad. 

Grace is waiting for him to answer her, but his mind’s gone a little blank, so “Steve’s not family,” falls out of his mouth without him properly thinking about it. 

Grace frowns, her shoulders slumping.

Danny would, if he were in a cartoon or in a sitcom or something, slap himself in the face. Before he can correct himself, say _of course_ Steve’s family but this is Danno-Grace time, not Danno-Grace-Steve time, Grace says, miserably, in a horrible, too-adult, resigned voice, “Did you guys break up? Does that mean he’s not Uncle Steve anymore?”

“Woah, woah, break up? Monkey, we didn’t—we—”

“Oh! So then where is he?”

“I—” but then the oven beeps, and by the time he’s gotten the lasagna out so it can cool, Grace has scampered off to set the table, and he has time to _think_. 

He waits until she’s eaten a slice and drunk her juice and had a bite of salad before he says, carefully, “Grace?”

“Hm?”

“You know I’m not uh...I’m not g—dating Uncle Steve right?”

Grace blinks owlishly at him, then laughs. “ _Sure_ Danno,” she says, “You went on a date with him last week! We got pizza!”

“That wasn’t a—we were just hanging out!”

“But you guys were cuddling on the couch, like Mom and Step-Stan do, and you watched a _movie_ together. And the week before that you said Uncle Steve made you go surfing, but that you had fun even though you don’t even  _like_ surfing, only you made me promise to never tell him.”

“But—,” says Danny, heart clenching. 

“Dating is when you like somebody and they like you back, and you spend as much time with them as you can, and you do things for them that you don’t really like ‘cause it makes them happy, and you can’t stop talking about them, and you’re _always_ talking about Uncle Steve, and he’s _always_ talking about you, _so_ ,” says Grace, taking a deep breath, “You guys are dating.” And then she spears a cucumber with her fork with a serious nod of her little head, like she’s checkmated him. 

Danny can’t even summon up a response, panic and pride warring in him. His kid is, of course, brilliant, but that's beside the point, because somehow, his whole…thing...with Steve has led her to believe they’re _dating_. How long has she—is _that_ why she calls him Uncle Steve? And if she thought they were dating then what did she think of Am—Melissa? Suddenly, that two week period where Grace gave him the cold shoulder makes a whole lotta sense. She must have thought—Danny almost laughs, except his chest has gone all tight and his stomach is twisting and he thinks, distantly, that he might actually break his no-vomiting streak right there on the kitchen table. 

But then his phone rings, jolting him out of his head, rescuing him from the newfound realizations his ten year old daughter has just thrown in his face.

It’s Steve, because of course it is, who's wondering if he can come by to talk to Danny about the latest case, even though he knows Grace is over. 

“I won’t take long,” he says apologetically, “But I think I figured out why Dermott’s been stonewalling us, and—"

“No it’s fine,” says Danny, and then Grace is yelling, “Tell him he’s late and if he doesn’t hurry there won’t be any lasagna left,” even as she puts two slices on a plate aside for him, because his kid is a gem.

Steve pulls up barely fifteen minutes later, and sure they talk about the case, but Steve lets himself get sidetracked to compliment Grace on her superior tomato chopping skills, and then Grace wants to go to the beach because last time Steve promised to show her his favourite tide pools, and before he knows it, Danny’s watching Steve ‘I laugh in the face of danger and stop signs’ McGarrett crouching beside a pool of stagnant sea water, pointing out all the little critters that live in it, and Grace is clutching at his cargo-pants covered knee for balance as she peers closer, and they’re both haloed by the pink-gold glow of a beautiful sunset, and an honest-to-God lightbulb goes off in Danny's head.

“What?” says Steve, looking up from letting a hermit crab crawl off his hand and onto Grace’s.

“Nothing,” says Danny, even though he’s sure the grin on his face is all goofy and ridiculous and way too revealing.

Later that night, Grace wishes them both good night and crawls into bed, and Steve hands him a beer, and they sit on the couch and watch T.V. even though Steve could’ve left hours ago. Danny won’t ask him to leave, doesn’t want to, and never has, before. And nothing’s changed, nothing at all, they’ve been doing a variation of this for four years, but this time, this time Danny’s hyperaware of Steve stretching his stupidly long arm over the back of the couch and around him in a move not unlike the one the love-interest of every goddamn teen romance movie has ever made while on a date, and of how he’s relaxed unconsciously right into Steve’s chest, and how Steve’s muscled thigh is pressed up against his own, and how he’s never sat this close to any of his guy friends, or his brother, or his Dad, or Chin, or even _Kono_. 

He _did_ do this a lot with Rachel. Invited her over and sat too close and spent all his time with her, when he could, in the early days, before they’d officially begun dating. 

“Danny?”

“Hm?”

“You ok?”

Danny blinks, realizes he’s frowning and rubbing at his ring finger, giving off the mother of all tells, and immediately stops both, turns to look at Steve.

Steve, who’s really close, all long lashes and pretty eyes that are sometimes green and sometimes blue and sometimes grey but always so intense, and pretty mouth that’s _right there,_ a little parted and kinda pink, and Danny feels actual real alarm sink its claws into him.

“Danny?”

Danny pastes on a smile that won’t fool Steve and pushes up from the couch. “I uh,” he says, “I think I’m gonna call it a night.”

Steve doesn’t argue, but there’s a confused furrow between his brows as he stands and helps Danny tidy up. “Night,” he says, but there’s a suggestion of a question mark tacked onto the end of it that Danny refuses to respond to, just waves him into his truck and shuts the door and, very briefly, has a panic attack.

He’s in love with Steve. He’s been _dating Steve for the past four years_. His daughter, the light of his life and the centre around which his world revolves, firmly believes that Uncle Steve is really and truly _Uncle Steve_ , and Danny is an _idiot_. 

He slumps to the ground, pressed against his front door, and tries to get his whirling brain to slow down long enough that he can _think._ Ok, so he’s in love with Steve, his partner and boss and walking heart-attack, him of the good looks and tattoos and non-existent sense of self-preservation and total lack of consideration for due process. Steve, who, fuck, he  _genuinely_ _likes_ , who’s become his best friend when a scant four years ago Danny never thought he’d find anything on this godforsaken chain of islands _to_ like. Steve, who he stuck by, even when Rachel and Grace got on a plane without him. Steve, who he went to Korea and Afghanistan for, who told Danny about his dad and his mom and Wo Fat, who'd said, multiple times, and _shown_ him every single day, that he only needs _Danny_ as back-up, and everything else is just the cherry on the whip-cream covered grenade that is his life. 

Danny laughs, a little hysterically, and then shuts up because he doesn’t want Grace to wander out of her room and see her Dad having a midlife crisis in the middle of the hall. So he’s in love with Steve, which is not a problem, because apparently he's been in love with him this whole damn time.

It's just that that’s not all. Right there, on the couch, Danny’d thought, just for a second, of  _kissing him._

Danny’s never been into guys. He appreciated them, aesthetically, because _bodies,_ right? Bodies are just bodies. But he’d never considered dating a guy, or sleeping with a guy, or touching a guy in a sexual way, or having one touch him back and getting _off on it_.

But with Steve—if it were Steve—he's suddenly wondering what it might be like for Steve to kiss him, what it might be like to touch Steve’s chest which he’s seen all rippling and wet and streaked with everything from soot to sand to actual blood, which should only gross him out but is, in fact, _appealing_. And then Danny’s brain trips headlong into wondering what it might be like to see Steve’s cock, to touch it, and he finds himself flushing, heart pounding, interested in a scared sort of way, and ok, Danny might be a little gay.

He forces himself to stand on his shaky legs, forces himself to go to his room and lock the door and, on autopilot, a part of his brain chanting _I can’t believe I’m doing this_ over and over increasingly shrilly, digs his computer out. He stares at the screen, breathes shakily, and before he can talk himself out of it, googles some gay porn in incognito mode. 

It takes him about maybe thirty seconds to realize that he’s _not_ a little gay. He’s a _lot gay._ Bisexual, to be technical about it, because he still likes girls, definitely, it’s just, you know, _cock_ is apparently all well and good, too.

Ok.

Ok.

That’s…ok.

Danny puts his computer away and stares at the ceiling and the little strips of light swept across it from the glow of the streetlights through his blinds. 

He’s into Steve, and the thought doesn’t scare him. It makes sense. It makes his _whole life in Hawaii make sense_. 

_So what’re you gonna do about it Williams?_

Danny turns over, grins into his pillow. Oh, he knows exactly what he’s gonna do about it. 

He's got a  _plan._


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THIS GOT REALLY LONG SORRY. it just wanted to go on and on and oonnnnn. Anyways I had fun, hope you do too.

Operation Seduce the Goof goes like this. Danny wakes up with a pep in his step and a fuzzy ball of warmth where his heart used to be and only a little bit of nerves. He looks at his shirts and his ties and his dress slacks, and wavers between his usual gear and a soft blue t-shirt Melissa told him brought out his eyes and emphasized his shoulders nicely. 

And even though he wants to wear what he usually does and then see if McGarrett’s eyes track his movements when later he wrestles the tie off and pops the first two buttons on his shirt, it might be too subtle a move. Steve is, after all, a bull in the china shop of life. More drastic measures will have to be taken to get a good enough read on him.

So he puts on the t-shirt, which is just classy enough to be work appropriate, especially for Hawaiians, who seem to think beachwear is _not_ meant to be limited to beaches, and pairs it with his favourite jeans that make his ass look great (he’s had them for five years because finding good jeans in his size is not fucking easy). 

The finishing touch is lightening up on the product in his hair, going for softness instead of stay-the-fuck-outta-my-eyes slick. 

“Oooh, Danno,” says Grace, abandoning her bowl of cereal to study him when he walks into the kitchen, “You look nice!”

“Thanks monkey,” he grins at her, and then sweeps her into a hug and peppers her face with kisses because he’s so grateful to have her, and she accepts with only a little wriggling and muffled protesting squeaks. 

Once he’s got a coffee and eaten breakfast, he bundles her into the car, and drives her to her school. 

“Hey Danno?” says Grace, pausing outside the passenger window instead of pelting for school like she usually does. 

“What’s up babe?”

“I’m glad you’re happy.”

Danny blinks at her as she beams at him and waves and dashes off almost before he can call “Danno loves you!” after her. 

“Love you too!” comes drifting in on the breeze. 

Danny watches her disappear into the morning crowd, wondering just how much Grace knows about, well, everything, and has a sneaking suspicion that his daughter may have played him —but no. She’s _ten_. 

Someone behind him honks, spurring him out of his head and off to HQ. 

* * *

“Woah, _Danny_ ,” is the first thing Kono says when she sees him, giving him a blatant once over and then whistling. 

“Aw, shut up,” says Danny, pleased. 

“What is this, casual Monday?” asks Chin, one eyebrow raised. 

“Looking good Williams,” says Grover.

Danny shrugs. “Well, I thought I’d change it up.”

And because he’s watching for it, he catches the hitch in Steve’s step as he comes bounding out of his office and the little flicker of his eyes over Danny, has to work hard on restraining his ear-splitting grin. He’d forgotten how much fun this was, but it’s been a while since he’s outright tried to _catch_ someone. The thing with Melissa had just _happened_ , the way fake tsunamis and terrorist drones just _happen_  in Hawaii. 

“Hey,” says Steve, a slow smile uncurling over his face, “Is this the day that Danny Williams finally ditches the ties? You gonna slum it with the rest of us now?”

Danny crosses his arms, the t-shirt pulling just a bit tighter over his shoulders, leans back a little to look at Steve from under his eyelashes and say lazily, “Well, I’m not in Jersey anymore, am I? I might be a _haole,_ but this is home now, isn’t it? When in Rome...”

Steve blinks at him, eyes just a little wide, before he visibly regroups and turns away to say, abruptly, “So, Dermott—” and he’s off in superSEAL mode. Danny sees Chin nudge Kono out of the corner of his eye, sees Kono smile her dangerous smile, sees Lou scratch idly at his chin like he’s hiding a smile, and knows they’ve caught on. 

Poor Steve. He’s not gonna know what hit him. 

For about an hour after though, Danny’s focussed more on work then flirting as Chin unearths Dermott’s offshore account and the unusually large deposit that got dropped in there two days before their vic was murdered.

“Bribe or murderer?” Kono asks. 

“Bribe,” says Chin, “I managed to trace the money back to a James Hank, who’s got a rap sheet about a mile long.”

Danny snorts. “Figures it’d be the guy with a first name for a last name.”

“You got a thing about names now?” Steve asks, side-eyeing him. 

“ _Ridiculous_ names, McGarrett, there’s an important distinction there.”

Steve just rolls his eyes. “Whatever. Ok, Kono, Lou, you go pick up Dermott, see if he’ll point the finger at Hank now that we know about the money. Danny and me will bring in Hank, and Chin—”

“I’ll go over the house again, see if I can find the murder weapon. Max said it was probably a specialty knife, maybe decorative.”

They split.

As they approach the Camaro, Danny tosses Steve the keys, who catches them fluidly only to shoot him a look. 

“What?”

“You’re letting me drive without bitching at me?”

“Don’t get used to it,” Danny drawls as he slides into the seat, “Just thought I’d give you a pass today.”

_“Why?”_

Danny pushes his seat back, stretches languorously and pretends to miss the way Steve’s gaze drifts away from his face. “Oh, I don’t know. Woke up on the right side of the bed, I guess.”

Steve’s got Aneurysm Face on and Danny can’t quite hold back a laugh. “You’re gonna strain something,” he says, “Come on Steve, we gotta get Hank, remember?”

Steve drives, as usual, too fast, but Danny doesn’t mind as much, because in retaliation he can clutch at Steve's knee when they make a particularly tight turn. Steve’s jaw clenches, his knuckles go white on the wheel, and the Camaro surges forward with a muted roar, which, Danny thinks, he should've maybe expected. 

“Steve, _Christ_ , we’re not _actually_ on a time crunch here!” Danny yelps, knows he’s got a bruising grip on Steve’s thigh, but this is a bit much, even for Steve. 

They pull up to Hank’s little bungalow just as Danny’s sure his heart’s gonna call it quits on him from sheer terror, and spot Hank stepping out of his own car with groceries. Hank spots them too, and before Steve can yell, “Freeze, 5-0!” he’s dropped his bags, spun, and run into his house. 

Steve doesn’t, as usual, bother to make sure Danny’s following, just takes off after Hank without even turning off the ignition. Danny follows, unholstering his gun and praying Hank doesn’t slip away and steal his baby. The bullets that start pelting them don’t really faze him, because it’s par for the course—that is, until Steve flies backward off the porch steps, spread-eagled, and all Danny's laconic good humour from earlier evaporates in a wave of _no no no_. 

“Steve!” 

Bullets are spraying everywhere and Steve’s on the ground and Danny doesn’t know how does it, but somehow he gets to Steve without getting shot himself and drags him around the corner of the porch and out of range. Steve’s not bleeding, not even unconscious, just dazed knocking his head and winded from the two slugs his TAC vest caught.

“You fucking idiot,” Danny yells. “How many goddamn times do I gotta say wait for backup?”

Steve, true to form, just struggles upright and gives his head a shake, like concussions can just be _brushed away_. “He’s out of ammo,” he says, instead of _sorry, won’t do it again_ , which would’ve been a blatant lie anyway. 

And he’s right, damn him. 

Danny maybe tackles Hank a little bit harder then necessary when they finally corner him heading right for Danny’s still running Camaro. 

“Get off me you psycho midget!”

Danny gets off him alright, only to haul back and punch him with every bit of strength he can muster without throwing out his arm. 

“That’s for having a fucking stupid ass name,” Danny snarls at James Hank's bleeding nose. 

Steve laughs, a toddler’s cackle of delight. “Book ‘im Danno,” he says. 

They book him. By then, HPD has swarmed up, because a neighbour heard the shots and flipped out. As Hank’s being bundled away and read his rights, Danny rounds on Steve, who’s got a look of mixed anticipation and amused resignation on his stupid face. 

Danny opens his mouth to let loose the worry-fueled tirade that’s been building in him ever since Steve fucking fell all ragdoll-like, but then he remembers what today’s supposed to be about, murderous Hanks notwithstanding. 

So instead, he just says, “C’mere ya schmuck.”

Steve comes over, because despite being a SEAL and therefore ready for all kinds of surprise attacks, he’s gotten used to Danny, comfortable with him, and this isn’t the routine they usually have, he’s not at all used to Danny _not_ confronting him. Danny huffs and tugs at Steve until the idiot obligingly bows his head and Danny can run his hands over the back of it, feeling for—ah yes, the egg-sized bruise on his noggin.

Steve makes a very quiet sound Danny would’ve missed if Steve’s mouth wasn’t treacherously close to his ear right then. It’s not a pain sound, it’s—dare he say it—yearning?

“Right,” he says, low like he’s telling Steve a secret, a frisson of fondness blooming in his belly. “I know you’re gonna say you’re fine and you’ve had worse in all your ‘classified’ missions, but do me a favour and let the medical professionals reassure me. And let them check out the bruising too.” So saying, he lets his hand slide up Steve’s chest. It’s not that intense of a touch, what with the vest and all, but Danny still sees the fine hairs on the back of Steve’s neck raise. 

“Ok,” says Steve, sounding dazed. 

Danny smiles at him, pleased, and pats him gently on the cheek as he waves over the hovering EMTs, who’ve learned better than to go at Steve before Danny’s bullied him into getting checked out (God, and doesn’t that thought horrify him, in a distant way. What is his life when the paramedics are this familiar with them?)

Steve’s released pretty quick, with only some bruising and not even a mild concussion. Danny still refuses to hand his keys over. “No operating heavy machinery, I don’t care what they said, you _banged_ your _head_ ,” Danny says, and Steve only grumbles a little, which means he _definitely_ shouldn’t be driving. 

Danny fills the ride back to HQ with mindless chatter—he honestly has no idea what he’s saying—Steve grunting back in response like a neanderthal. Danny chalks it up to the head-bump, until, as they’re parking, he sees Steve’s trying and failing to reign in a level one Aneurysm face (there are three levels, level one being what he usually makes around his mom). 

“You’re being weird,” he grumbles, when Danny asks him what’s got his panties in a twist.

“ _I’m_ being—no, you know what, never mind, I’m not gonna even justify that with a response. Did you, or did you not, _just last week_ , hold a man upside down over the side of a twelve story building and then _almost drop him?_ And _I’m_ being weird?”

Steve pouts as he gets out of the car (which, amazing, Steve pouts!) and says, “Yeah, well, that’s normal for me.”

_Point_ , thinks Danny, but fuck if he’ll ever _say_  that.

“Yeah, whatever,” he says instead and slings an arm around Steve’s waist as they walk into HQ. Steve does this funny thing where he stiffens but also leans into Danny, but most importantly, he doesn’t shove Danny off him, and when Danny looks up, the tips of Steve’s ears have gone a little pink.

The rest of the day is eaten up with taking Dermott’s and Hanks’ statements, confirming that the letter opener Chin bagged really is the murder weapon, a load of processing, and paperwork, and before Danny knows it, 5 pm comes around and Chin and Kono and Lou have all said goodbye and gone home, leaving him and Steve alone in double the time as usual. 

Danny grins to himself, anticipatory, saunters over to Steve’s office. 

“Hey,” he says, leaning again the doorjamb, “You done yet?"

Steve looks up, fine lines around his eyes which means he’s got a headache, and says, “Yeah,” even though Danny can see the report, half-empty still, that Steve’s trying and failing to casually cover up with his arms.

Danny tsks. “On any other day, I’d mock you relentlessly for that pathetic excuse of a lie and make you finish it, but—let’s go home. That hard head of yours is aching enough.”

He's expecting Steve to argue with him, insist he’s fine. Instead, Steve shoves himself out of his chair, storms around his desk, and grabs Danny by the arm to loom menacingly over him.

“Woah, hey,” says Danny, as his heart skips a beat. “What’s with the manhandling?”

Steve growls, actually growls, and says, “What is _up_ with you, Danny? You walk in here this morning like—like—"

“Like what?” Danny asks, the picture of innocence, even as he sways closer to Steve.

“Like you got fucking _laid_ ,”Steve snarls, “With the t-shirt and the _hair_ and the—you barely yelled at me all day!”

Danny manfully forces down the high-pitched giggles threatening to overcome him. “What, you miss me yelling at you? Is that it? Or are you _jealous?”_

Steve scowls, but his ears are pink again, and he’s got the same face on that he got when he met Ma, and _wow_ , Danny had thought, _hoped_ , that he’d get some kind of signal that Steve was into him by the end of today, but he’d never bargained on _this_. 

“Hey,” he says, hooking a finger through Steve’s belt loop, “When I decided to be extra nice to you today, I didn’t think it’d freak you out. You really weren’t held enough as a baby were you?”

Steve’s eyes are riveted on Danny’s hands, but he looks up jerkily, croaks, “ _Nice?_ ” And then, “I’m not freaked out."

“No?”

Steve blinks, swallows, and Danny watches the long column of his neck with undisguised interest, licks his lips, and sees realization dawn on Steve like the sun coming out from behind a cloud. 

“Not freaked out,” says Steve again, roughly, and shoves Danny against the wall.

Steve kisses like he does everything, just goes at it with 110% eager enthusiasm and determination, and Danny groans, opens his mouth to Steve’s tongue, thinks _finally_ , and then _fuck_  as Steve slots a leg between his and slides his hand up under Danny’s shirt.

“This fucking shirt,” Steve hisses, pulling away to bite at the hinge of Danny’s jaw, and Danny laughs, gets a hand on Steve’s hair and—mindful of the bruise—runs his fingers through the short strands, sweeps his thumb over the curve of his skull. Steve whole-body shivers and Danny grins, because Steve might be ferocious about everything and sex-on-giraffe-legs, but Danny knows the truth, which is that Steve broke under Danny being _sweet_ to him, and ‘aint that just a kick in the teeth?

“As much as I’d like to bend you over your desk,” he murmurs, nipping at Steve’s collarbone as Steve thumbs at his nipple and grinds against Danny’s hip, “I really wanna take you back to my place.”

Steve reels back, pupils blown and mouth kissed pink and plump. “Yeah,” he breathes, “Yeah ok, let’s go.”

Steve drives and Danny doesn’t distract him by pawing at him even though he _really_ wants to, fingers twitching with it, because there are other, safer ways of winding Steve up. Namely, his mouth. 

“I did some research,” he says huskily, “Last night, after you left. I’ve never done anything with a guy, only used my fingers, sometimes, on special occasions, you know, when I get a little hornier than usual.”

Steve chokes on air, flings a wild look at him, says, “ _Danny_ ,” scandalized and turned on, which makes Danny palm his dick briefly, aching hard in his jeans. 

“So you could do that,” he continues, “Use your fingers—I love your hands. They’re fucking _big_ , Steve, and I can never get a good enough angle, I’m not that flexible.”

“I swear to god Danny.”

“But I wanna taste your tattoos,” Danny croons, “I wanna go down on you. You could teach me what you like. You could shut me up.”

“I _will_ shut you up if you don’t fucking _stop_ Danny, how am I supposed to drive—" Steve cuts himself off, flies through a yellow, and Danny laughs, breathless.

“All that training and you’re saying I’m a distraction? Come on, _Commander_.”

Steve swears colourfully in a language Danny doesn’t know, and then they’re pulling into Danny’s driveway. Steve throws the car into park, twists over the console, and licks into Danny’s mouth, beautiful hands trailing down Danny’s chest and to his jeans, and before Danny can stop him, he’s popped the button and carefully unzipped him and—

_“Steve.”_

“You’re a menace,” Steve says, mouthing at his neck, his fingers smearing precome over the head of Danny’s cock.

“We’re not fucking in the car,” Danny gasps, jerking into Steve’s grip, “I want—ah—a bed. I wanna take you apart slow—” Steve’s hand spasms and Danny has to fight not to come right then and there like he hasn’t had to do since he was a _teenager_ , but he’s at least gotten Steve to back off. They stumble out of the car, through the door, somehow, a task made ten times more difficult with Steve draped all over him, hands down Danny’s still open pants, pressing his hard-on against Danny’s ass, and Danny prays none of his neighbours see this. As soon as they’re inside Steve rips Danny’s shirt off, herds him to the bedroom, pushes him down onto the bed and crawls over him.

They pause there for a moment, panting, the reality of the situation hitting them both.

“Hey,” says Danny.

“Hey,” says Steve, eyes bright, and when they kiss again it’s soft, slow, until Danny gets his hands on Steve’s ass and presses him down and rolls his hips, and even through clothes it’s enough to make him moan, squeeze his eyes shut. 

Steve wiggles out of his shirt and his cargos and his briefs, shoves Danny’s jeans and briefs off, and they’re suddenly both naked.

“Yeah, come on,” says Danny nonsensically, reaching for Steve. 

The slide of their naked bodies robs Danny of breath. He forgets sometimes how big Steve is, but now he’s all wrapped up in him, legs and arms and flat belly and muscled chest and it’s so much and so good and he’s so _warm_. Danny's always surprised by the warmth of other bodies, their touch.

Steve is thrusting against him, making small choked noises in the back of his throat, and this is _awesome_ but Danny’s got  _plans_ , which have been adjusted a little in the wake of his earlier discovery. 

“Wait,” he gasps, “Wait, turn over, lemme—”

Steve rolls onto his back, pliant, eyes at half mast and cock hard and leaking and Danny can’t resist running his fingers over the length. It’s his first time touching a cock other than his own, and it’s weird how not weird it is. 

“You’re clean right?” Danny asks. 

“Yeah, yeah, promise.”

“Same,” says Danny, but he doesn’t move, riveted by Steve’s cock, the feel of it, can’t tear his attention away. 

“Danny,” Steve says eventually, impatience bleeding into his tone, “What’re you _waiting_ for?” 

Danny looks around, notes the pink at Steve’s ears have traveled over his cheeks, and shakes his head. “I’m gonna take my time with you,” he declares, solemn, “I’m gonna _savour_ this. And you’re gonna let me.”

“Oh yeah?” Steve asks, all casual and confident and daring, but his cock twitches, so Danny just smiles and bends over him, ignoring the twinge in his knee as he does. This is gonna be _so_ worth it. 

“Yeah,” he breathes against Steve’s neck, trailing the top of his nose over the line of it, down to his shoulder, through the sparse hairs on his chest, and Steve shivers as Danny brushes feather-light kisses over him along the way. “You know how long we coulda been doing this Steve? _Years_. I could know all your sweet spots by now, I could be ready for the sounds you make when I do _this_ —” he bites gently at the jut of Steve’s hip, and Steve breathes out, almost a whimper. “Or _this_ ,” and without warning he drags his tongue in a slow, wet swath over Steve’s cock, which tastes like clean skin and only a little bitter at the head.

“Fuck,” Steve moans, drawn out, his hands clenching in the sheets. 

“And you’d know that you can put your hands in my hair and I wouldn’t mind,” Danny adds, the head of Steve’s cock brushing over his lips as he talks. 

“Coulda known you were a fucking _tease_ ,” Steve grunts, but his hands obligingly slide into Danny’s hair, so gentle, and Danny loves him, _god_ but he loves him. 

“Show me how to suck you off,” he says, and takes Steve in his mouth, slow, breathing through his nose and guarding his teeth, tonguing the ridge of the veins on the underside. He can’t go all the way down, not yet, has to pull up and suck on the head a little before he tries again. 

“Re-relax your throat,” Steve stutters, “ _Fuck_ yeah, like that.” 

It takes Danny three tries before he can swallow Steve all the way down, his nose pressed to Steve’s skin, drooling with it, jaw already a little sore.

His heart is pounding in his ears and he never figured on how much he’d be getting off on doing this but he really fucking should’ve, he’s got an oral fixation the size of Hawaii, loved when Rachel would put her fingers in his mouth when they fucked—he shakes away thoughts of Rachel, hollows his cheeks. Steve’s hands clench reflexively, tug on his hair, and it startles a hum out of him. 

Steve makes a sound, part grunt, part Danny’s name, and Danny pulls off. 

Steve _whines_.

Danny doesn’t leave him waiting, lifts Steve’s legs and bends them back so he can tongue at the pucker of his hole. 

“ _Danny_ ,” Steve says, like Danny’s gutted him. “Thought you said— _unh_ — you never—"

“Some girls like anal,” Danny explains. 

It doesn’t take long before Steve’s pressing back and down against Danny’s tongue, hole getting loose and wet until Danny can hook his finger on the rim, point his tongue, and  _lick in._  

_“Please,”_ Steve pants brokenly, “Please will you—fucking— _Danno_.  _More_.”

Danny pulls back at that, props his head against Steve’s flexed thigh and fists his cock at the sight of Steve, flushed, shining with sweat at the temples and chest, _Steve_ , who’s stuffed his knuckles in his mouth and is biting down like he needs to _hold onto_ something or he’ll fall apart. 

He wants Steve to fall apart, wants it more than _anything_. 

“You’re fucking gorgeous,” Danny tells him, scrambling over to him, “ _So_ pretty, look at you, unbelievable.”

“Danny, _Danny_.”

“I got you, I got you, hold on babe.”

Danny fumbles in his night-table drawer for a condom, only manages to get a hold of the lube before Steve slaps his hand away.

“I’m clean, you’re clean, fuck me already,” he snarls, but his eyes have a watery sheen to them, and it makes Danny kiss him hard, no finesse whatsoever, just a press of lips and teeth as he slicks his cock ( _cold_ , frick), circles Steve’s hole with his lubed up fingers, and lines himself up. Steve wraps his legs around Danny’s waist, eager and desperate, trying his hardest to fucking take Danny in all on his own. 

They both groan when Danny slides in, slow slow slow, because as much as Steve insisted, Danny really hadn’t prepped him all that much, and Steve is _tight_ (and hot, oh god, _so hot_ ). He touches every bit of Steve he can reach apologetically, soothingly, the expanse of his thigh, the sweep of his shoulders, nuzzles at his temple. “You good, Steve, you with me?”

“Yeah,” Steve says, rough, “I’m—I—“

But Steve can’t finish whatever he’s trying to say, so Danny just holds still, even if he thinks he might be exploding really, really slowly with the need to thrust.

“I got you,” he says, again, and it’s awkward but he manages to force a hand between them and get a hold of Steve’s cock, gone half-soft, and pull on it, lube and sweat slicking the way, Steve making these tiny noises all the while that are making Danny’s heart do funny things, and eventually, finally, relaxing, bearing down, moving in short little jerks. 

Danny pulls out half an inch, slides back, and it’s so good that he knows he’s _really_ not gonna last long.  

“Yeah, _move_ , Danny,” Steve begs, both of his hands coming up to cradle Danny’s jaw, his eyes fluttering shut. 

Danny swears, slams into him, the whole bed shifting, thumping against the wall. 

Steve groans and laughs, breath puffing against Danny’s shoulder, meets him thrust for thrust, _clenches around him_.

He can’t even warn Steve before he comes so hard he can’t even breathe, biting down on Steve’s shoulder and shuddering into him, and fuck if now he gets why the French call it the little death, he’s pretty sure there’s a white light calling to him. When he can draw breath back into his straining lungs, he finds Steve looking up at him, wide eyed, the shape of Danny’s teeth imprinted on his shoulder.  

“Sorry,” Danny rasps. 

Steve just blinks at him, before his whole face screws up and he drops his head back, laughing helplessly, happily. 

Maybe Danny would feel embarrassed if it were anyone else. Instead, he can’t help his answering grin, even if the feel of being inside Steve while he laughs is a whole new experience that could probably get him hard again in half the usual time. 

As it is, he just pulls out, which gratifyingly cuts Steve off mid-laugh, makes him moan and squirm. 

“Yeah, that’s what I thought,” says Danny, which makes no sense but whatever, Steve literally just fucked half his brains out. “How you wanna do this babe? I could go down on you again, or—no, I’ve got an idea.”

“Hit me with your best shot,” is what Steve says, slurred and cheeky all at once. Steve should know better than to challenge Danny like that, but then there’s a glint in his eyes that says he’s hedging on Danny rising to the occasion. Well, he asked for it. 

“On your knees,” Danny tells him.   

It takes Steve a sec, but then he scrambles on to his hands and knees, presses his forehead against his arm, spreads his legs. 

“Fucking _hell_ —you’re so good, you know that?” Danny asks, and shoves two fingers into Steve without preamble.  Steve rocks forward and then back, twitching and needy, and keens when Danny pushes a third finger into him.  “One day,” says Danny, twisting his hand and spreading his fingers a little, entranced at the sight of Steve stretching for him, of his come sliding down his thighs, “I’m gonna fist you. You ever been fisted, Steve?”

Steve answers by spreading his knees even further and gasping wetly for air. His cock is leaking all over the bed, and Danny wonders, heady, if Steve could come just like this. He curls his fingers, and Steve jerks, spine bowing, and there it is, what Danny was looking for. He finds the spot again and again, until Steve’s all but sobbing, scrabbling at the sheets, fucking himself onto Danny’s hand. 

Danny drapes himself over Steve’s back, gets a hand on his cock, and one touch is all Steve needs before he’s coming, groaning his name, beautiful beautiful beautiful. 

He slumps flat after, and Danny settles half beside, half on top of him, kisses the bruise on the back of his head. 

“Love you,” Steve mumbles, and then he’s out like a light. 

“Love you too,” says Danny to his sleeping back. 

He just manages to wipe his hand off on Steve’s abandoned shirt and pull the sheet over them both before he follows Steve into the dark.

* * *

He wakes slow, aching pleasantly, except for his knee, which is mad at him. He lies still for a moment, then opens his eyes to find Steve sitting up beside him, lost in his thoughts

“Grace called,” Steve says, can tell with some kind of sixth SEAL-honed sense that Danny’s awake without looking at him. “Said she’ll call later to wish you good night and that her and Amanda are gonna watch Zootopia before bed.”

Danny grunts, presses his forehead to Steve’s bare thigh, slings his arm over Steve’s lap. Steve’s hand falls on his head, heavy and warm. 

“So what brought this on?” Steve asks, quietly, after a while. 

“Why, you complaining?” Danny asks, and then winces. Christ, he sounds like—well, like he deep-throated cock.

“No,” says Steve, “Just wondering. Isn’t this—wasn’t this all…fast?”

Danny snorts, sits up to lean on him, Steve’s hand sliding down his back. Danny mouths a little at his neck, since it’s _right there,_ and because he can, before he answers. “We’ve been dating since like, day two.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” says Danny.

“Not day one?”

“Day one I thought you were a dick.”

Steve laughs, turns his head, catches Danny’s mouth, nibbles on his lip. “Come on, you need a shower.”

“Pot, kettle,” says Danny muzzily, but he follows Steve into the shower, hobbling a little, and lets Steve clean them both up, doesn’t mention the pleased little smile Steve wears through it all, because he doesn’t want it to go away. 

Midway through showering they get distracted, because Danny’s a little (a lot) into the marks he’s left on Steve, the hickeys and the bruises and the crescent shaped mark from biting him, and Steve likes it when Danny tongues each and every one, and then the tattoos too, just for good measure. 

Shower sex is slippery and dangerous and Danny’s knee is _not_ having it, so in the end, Steve holds him up (“I got this Danno, I’m a SEAL, would you just trust me?” “You’ve done _this, really?”_ “DADT just meant I had to be discreet.” “Discreet, you say, like you even know the meaning of the word” “Fuck you.” “ _Yes_ please.”) and jacks him off under the spray of warm water while Danny rocks back against his cock.

They stumble out of the shower eventually, loose-limbed and pruney and hungry. Steve makes Danny elevate his leg and ice his knee while he fries sausages and eggs and tomatoes, and it’s so good Danny licks the plate, grins at Steve, and kisses sticky yolk off the corner of his mouth.

Steve goes pink, punches him lightly in the shoulder, because he’s a buffoon who doesn’t know how to human, but it’s ok, ‘cause Danny loves him. 

Which reminds him…"Love you too, by the way.”

“Huh?”

“You didn’t hear me the first time.”

“Oh.” Steve smiles that special little smile again, and Danny decides that since Operation Seduce the Goof was such an unparalleled success, then Operation Number Two is to keep Steve looking like that for the rest of his life.

“Remind me to get Grace a pony for Christmas.” 

Steve just shakes his head, instead of asking him what the fuck he’s talking about, says, “Sure Danno.”


End file.
